


An Extra Effort

by ChoPyrus_Writes



Series: It All Started Outside Grant Park [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Attacks, Canon Who Is She I Do Not Know Her, Dancing, Established Relationship, Familial Relationships, Family Bonding, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Introspection, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Injuries, Mid-Episode: s02e03 Fractured Masks, Mild Angst, Mild Language, Selfies, Sleepy Cuddles, Symbolism, awkward family dinner, house visits, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-19 03:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14228160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChoPyrus_Writes/pseuds/ChoPyrus_Writes
Summary: It had been a long, vigilante-free night, and Bruce was not only incredibly lonely, he was also incredibly bored. That is until John Doe makes an unexpected visit to Wayne Manor and meets the Bat-Family. They eat, they dance, and most importantly, they talk.





	1. A Phone Call

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to my editor and slight co-author, [Lainpinky131](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lainpinky131)!
> 
> For reference, my Bruce Wayne looks like [this ](https://chocolatepyrusart.tumblr.com/post/168114199122/based-on-my-edit-of-telltales-bruce-wayne-love)!

Wayne Manor was quiet that night. Neither of its inhabitants roamed its lavish halls, nor the caves below, and though one would normally find the master of the mansion in the city, chasing down criminals in a desperate attempt to clean up the streets of his hometown—or if the tabloids were to be believed, enjoying a life of leisure and wild parties while also spending very little time actually running his company, the truth of the matter was far less impressive.

Bruce Wayne was, in fact, brooding.

It had been a long, empty night, and Bruce found himself sitting in one of his mansion’s many parlors, alone in the darkness illuminated only by the yellow of a table lamp. It was a small room, designed only to host a few guests, and it looked identical to the rest of Wayne Manor, the only thing striking was the large television that hung on the wall in the corner of the room.

He had just finished tending to his wounds, reluctantly settling down to recover his strength, and though the relief from clean bandages was immediate, all his attempts of relaxation were interrupted by the pain that shot through his side. He had been given strict instructions to take time off from his vigilante duties, so not only was Bruce incredibly lonely, but he was also incredibly bored.

He looked over to where he left his phone on the table and after a brief moment of contemplation, he sighed.

Bruce reached over and dug the phone out from under a pile of medical supplies. He scrolled through his messages until his eyes landed on the name he was looking for.

John Doe.

He stared at the texts his strange friend had sent him; the smiles and kind words had surprised Bruce when he first read them. After all, he knew the man for such a short amount of time, it was hard for him to believe how close the two of them had become.

Bruce typed a message. _Are you free to call?_ It wasn’t until after he sent it that Bruce realized just how late, or rather, how early it was. It was unlikely that he’d get a response anytime soon.

He hissed in pain as he tossed the phone back onto the table.

He let his eyes close and willed away the sharp stab of pain he felt with each intake of breath, as he felt himself drift off.

The painfully loud vibrations of his phone against the table startled Bruce from his rest. He looked out the window and only then realized that a few hours must have passed, as he saw the sunlight shine through the curtains and fill the room.

Bruce rubbed his face and turned his attention to his still ringing phone. John was calling him. He reached over to the now clean table—thank you, Alfred—and answered the call.

“John, hi,” Bruce said. It was clear by the guttural sound of his own voice that he was exhausted.

“Bruce! Hey!” John exclaimed on the other end of the call, “You don’t know how happy I was to see your text, caught me by surprise! I wasn’t sure if I should message you back since it was a few hours ago,” he said.

It was nice to hear John’s voice, it was strange how much affection Bruce held for that high-pitch rasp.

“Yeah,” Bruce said nothing more.

A few seconds went by before John spoke up, “You need something, or did you just miss me? ‘Cause I missed you, Bruce.”

Bruce smiled, “I missed you too, Jay.”

He couldn’t see John’s face, but he could imagine that John was giving his signature smile at Bruce’s words.

He could hear rustling from John’s side. “Give me a second, buddy,” he said, right before the phone beeped and the line went silent.

Bruce pulled his phone away from his ear. _Call Ended_. He stared at his phone for a few seconds. Did John do that on purpose or was it an accident? With a furrowed brow, Bruce waited for John to call him back.

After only a moment, the phone rang loud once again, but this time, John was calling him via video call. Bruce immediately answered. Though, the image Bruce received wasn’t that of John’s face, which he’d hoped for, but of the door of John’s shack.

“Hey, Brucie! Sorry about that!” John giggled, “Ooh, boy. Did you get all dressed up for me?” Bruce remembered that he still hadn’t put on anything after he changed his bandages. His wounds and scars were all visible to John, but strangely enough, Bruce didn’t mind.

Bruce feigned annoyance, “John, all I see is a door.”

The screen froze for a second, then John appeared on the picture, far too close to the camera and, like how Bruce imagined, grinning from ear to ear.

“Better?” John asked. Bruce smiled, and John let out a sigh. “I’m so lucky, I’m dating such a hunk! A hunk that needs a shower, but still a hunk.”

Bruce ran a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to at least attempt to make himself look presentable. “Is that all I am to you, John? A piece of meat,” he deadpanned.

“Oh, Bruce, you’re more than that! You’re also stupid rich,” John cackled, and Bruce huffed out a laugh.

“I feel so used.”

“Don’t worry, Bruce. I fell for your body _way_ before I fell for your money!” John let out a burst of hysterical laughter, but immediately placed a hand over his mouth and smothered his noises. Bruce knew it would only end badly if John were to disturb his housemates too much. An angry popsicle, steroids with a pair of fists, and his ex-girlfriend were far too terrifying for John to risk annoying.

At least, when he didn’t have someone to hide behind.

“It’s nice to be appreciated, I guess,” Bruce chuckled. He tried to restrain himself from moving too much, but every so often a pulse of pain would forcefully travel through his body. The hiss he let out didn’t go unnoticed either.

“Buddy, you okay?” John asked.

Even with the low quality of the camera, Bruce could see the softness of John’s eyes. The transition from playfulness to genuine concern was startling. John moved his phone closer to his face in a futile attempt to see him better.

Bruce placed a hand on his bandages.

“I’m fine, John,” he said through gritted teeth and closed eyes.

“You know, Bruce, you’re always lying to people. You could at least be better at it,” he said.

Bruce glanced at the screen of his phone. John’s expression wasn’t that of accusation but of benign acceptance.

There really wasn’t much point to lying, John had already made that quite clear. John was someone Bruce could share anything with, someone who understood him, who he could trust… to a point. Of course, there were certain things that Bruce was not allowed to reveal, but he’d made a promise to be more honest with John, and he meant to keep it. They were together, and he wasn’t going to keep secrets in their relationship if he didn’t have to.

“I got knifed in the side yesterday. Nothing serious, just a lot of pain,” he said.

John rolled his eyes, “Muggers,” he assumed, his voice softer than before. “Hope they didn’t steal anything important, because, you know, a guy like you would have a real problem buying back something expensive.”

“Thanks for the sympathy, John. Really appreciate it right now.”

Bruce stared at the small image. He could barely make out what was on the screen, and it was beginning to irritate him. He tapped the image and dragged it over to the edge of the screen.

Instantly, the television that hung in the corner opposite to him came to life, and it took only a moment for the image of the video call to appear, now larger and in higher quality.

“Wow,” John blurted out in reaction to the sudden camera change, “It really feels like I’m in the room with you! Except I’m mounted on the wall, ten feet away, and looking at you through a phone.”

Bruce smirked, “You know, you could always just come over. I’m not doing anything right now,” he said.

Bruce was mostly joking when he said it, but as soon as the words left his mouth, there was no way he was going to take them back when he saw how John’s face lit up.

“Are you serious!?” John question excitedly, “I mean, wow! Wayne Manor, that’s crazy. How am I going to even get there? You know what—” he snapped his fingers, “—I’ll figure something out. I’ll be right over!”

Bruce’s eyes went wide. “Oh! Okay. Do you know the address—”

The call ended before he could even finish. Both the screen of his phone and the television went black.

Well then.

To be completely honest, Bruce had not been expecting his day to go like this. Though, thinking on it, he found he didn’t really mind. He loved seeing John. It would be the first time he felt himself actually looking forward to the arrival of a guest.

He supposed that it might be best to inform Alfred of their incoming visitor.

* * *

“Absolutely not!” Alfred exclaimed. He paused in his cleaning of the kitchen counter top to look up at Bruce. “This is just as much my house as it is yours, and I will not allow that man to take one step inside.” Alfred picked up the spray bottle he was using and slammed it down on the counter to further emphasize his statement.

“Al-” Bruce couldn’t get a word in before Alfred started up again.

“Just the thought of it! The things he’s said to you. The way he’s acted. You _have_ to realize how absurd this all is. That man is a lunatic.” Alfred finished his rant with nod and stared at Bruce with a furrowed brow. Bruce, who clearly hadn’t taken any of that to heart, crossed his arms.

“Are you done?”

Alfred stood up and straightened his vest. “Yes, I think I made myself clear.” Bruce was about to speak up again when- “But Bruce, do you honestly know what you’re doing?”

Bruce dropped his arms in exasperation. He wanted to argue, he wanted to deny everything Alfred was saying, to stand his ground and make Alfred listen, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the energy.

“You know, Alfred,” Bruce compulsively ran his hands through his disheveled hair, “Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I don’t have a clue how things ended up here.”

Alfred was taken aback by the sincerity in Bruce’s voice. His eyes softened as he watched his son, who in turn diverted his gaze.

He sighed, “Right now, with John, I know what I’m doing.” Bruce looked back up and met Alfred’s eyes. “Listen Al, you’re important to me, but so is he. There _is_ more to him. You just have to trust me.”

Alfred let out a resigned sigh. Once again, he had given into Bruce’s scheme. There was rarely a time when Alfred didn’t enable Bruce’s behavior.

“I didn’t give up on you at your lowest moments, so I suppose it’d be hypocritical of me to demand you give up on him,” he said.

Bruce smiled, full of relief, “Thank you, Al.”

Alfred rolled his eyes and continued to clean the counters with a touch more fervor than was strictly necessary.

“So, you will meet him?” Bruce asked, a part of him felt like he had over stepped his boundaries more than was needed.

Alfred stared intensely at the dish cloth he was using to clean. “If I must, I must,” he said.

Bruce rubbed at the back of his neck. “Well, when you meet him, try not to be so judgmental. John’s a little...” Bruce paused to find the right word, “much. So, if he says something weird,” he hesitated, “Just nod and say ‘ _right’_.” Bruce drew out his last word.

“Well, I’m not sure what I was so worried about. This John Doe fellow seems like a perfect Prince Charming,” Alfred teased, which caused Bruce to give him an unamused look.


	2. A Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long and tiring wait, John Doe finally makes an appearance at Wayne Manor, and Bruce is forced to confront the darker sides of himself and his family legacy. Though, it's nothing a dance can't fix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, the song I was using as inspiration was Bring It on Home to Me by Sam Cooke!  
> If you want to support what I do, you can maybe buy me a [coffee](https://ko-fi.com/ChoPyArt)!  
> Or become a [patron ](https://www.patreon.com/ChoPyArt)and get exclusive content! 
> 
> Check out my [Tumblr here!!](https://chocolatepyrusart.tumblr.com)

In the time when Bruce waited for John to arrive, he seated himself on a sofa near the manor’s front doors. The gates to the estate were open, a bottle of champagne was being chilled in the kitchen, Bruce had even replaced his bandages with clean ones and changed into a simple black button-up. Everything was ready, the only thing missing was the guest of honor himself.

As he waited, exhaustion hit Bruce once more. He had only gotten a few hours of sleep, and he was beginning to feel the fatigue. Bruce placed an elbow on the armrest and leaned his head into his hand. He let his eyes close and he waited for sleep to overtake him.

The relief of sleep would have to wait, however, as it was interrupted by the sound of a car that had pulled up to the mansion and a barrage of loud knocks on the front door.

Bruce leapt from his seat and raced over to the door. He reached his hand out to turn the handle, but right before he did, he rolled up his sleeves and ran a hand over his hair. The one thing he forgot: hair gel. Bruce hoped John would forgive the way his hair curled haphazardly.

Finally, he swung the door open and was greeted with the familiar toothy grin of John Doe.

“Morning, buddy-boy!” John exclaimed, which elicited a soft smile from Bruce.

John hadn’t even waited for an invitation before he waltzed through the doors into the center of the foyer. John spun around on his heels as he gawked at the majesty of the room.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, John,” he said.

Bruce couldn’t help but be a little arrogant about his home.

John rubbed his hands together, “Oh, I _hate_ rich people,” he growled to himself. He didn’t give any mind to the confused, borderline offended look Bruce gave him. John placed his hands at his hips and turned over his shoulder to look at him, “Not that I mind you just standing there looking pretty, but are you going to give me a tour?”

Bruce let out a laugh, “Sure.”

Bruce looked out to the halls of the mansion as he tried to decide where to take John first. In all honesty, the entire walk of the mansion was over three miles long; he had no idea where to begin the tour. It was then that he saw Alfred walk out from around the corner. Though, as soon as he saw the two, he immediately turned around and tried to retreat back down the hall.

“Alfred!” Bruce cheerfully exclaimed. Alfred stopped dead in his tracks and was forced to turn around and approach them. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he said.

“Good morning, Bruce.” Alfred tried to give him a polite smile, though it ended up closer to a cringe.

“Alfred, this is John Doe. A good friend of mine.”

As Bruce faked the pleasantries of an introduction, John looked back and forth between Alfred and Bruce. He had a look on his face that was nearly fearful before he dropped it for a wide grin. He extended his hand to Alfred, who hesitantly took it.

“It’s such an honor to finally meet Bruce’s old man,” he said.

The part of Alfred that wanted to remain polite was the only thing that kept the forced smile on his face as John clasped both his hands over Alfred’s.

Bruce looked between the two. “This seems like a good time for champagne, I think I left it in the kitchen. I’ll go grab it.”

Both Alfred and John turned to Bruce in alarm. “Oh, Bruce, you don’t have to-” “I can do it for you, that’s alright-” The two began to shout out over the other in protest to Bruce’s suggestion.

He, however, ignored the both of them and hurried out of the room. John and Alfred were left trapped in an awkward standoff.

They were silent for a few moments as they waited for Bruce to return. Alfred kept his hands behind his back as John rolled on his feet and glanced around the room.

“You know,” John spoke up first and he paused to find the perfect words to impress Alfred, who turned to look at him. “It’s a good thing Bruce’s parents kicked the bucket, they wouldn’t have been nearly as good of parents as you,” he said.

John gave him a thin smile.

Alfred nodded his head slowly, “Right…”

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce frantically paced in circles around the kitchen. There was something about this entire situation that made him so anxious. It was far from being the first time he had invited guests to his mansion, but there was something that was different about this. Though he hadn’t told Alfred the nature of their relationship exactly, this whole affair had a ‘bringing the boyfriend home to meet the parents’ vibe.

This was new. This was special. This was _John_. And John deserved the best he could give him.

It was embarrassing, feeling this nervous; he needed to stop cowering in the kitchen, this much Bruce knew.

He picked up the bottle of champagne that chilled in the ice box. Bruce had never really seen the point of welcoming guests with champagne, especially now when he didn’t even know if John liked the drink, but he supposed it didn’t matter. The gesture was more out of a tradition, a societal norm that was expected of him rather than something he actually wanted or cared about.

Bruce tried to even out his breaths; John’s breathing exercises had rubbed off on Bruce, and they had been extremely helpful so far.

When Bruce finally returned to the entry hall, he found neither of his companions where he left them. Bruce looked around the large foyer and tried to discern where the two of them had disappeared to.

It was then that he heard the sound of a door creaking and high-pitched giggling echo through the halls of the upper floor.

Bruce followed after the noise to a room where he was met with the sight of a very focused John, who had apparently been exploring whatever random room he found first. It seemed to be some kind of unused study or lounge, or rich-people-hangout-room, as John would no doubt have put it. He was staring, oddly enough, at the curtains of all things.

“What are you looking at?” Bruce asked, leaning casually against the open-door frame. He held the neck of the champagne bottle tightly as he let his arm dangle at his sides.

John turned around and smiled at Bruce, “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about how much better your curtains would be if they were purple! That would really tie the room together,” he said.

Bruce assumed John was most likely referring to the curtains that hung on the walls of the shack John called a room. His home, his _Ha-Hacienda_. John found the play on words far more amusing than Bruce did. John had tried to at least give his decrepit shed the appearance of a comfortable house. Though rotted and dusty, the curtains hung over the window frames, he had shelves full of books, a wall covered in ‘family’ photos. He had even placed a vase filled with flowers on his bedside table.

Bruce wondered if that was what John really wanted. If he wanted a home, someplace to call his own, a place of normalcy. He hoped that his and John’s relationship was a start for something normal, something at least ordinary. But Bruce couldn’t lie to himself. Their relationship was anything but ordinary.

Bruce didn’t know if normal was something he could give John. Hell, he wasn’t even sure normal was something he could give himself.

John let out a soft giggle, and Bruce shook his mind of his thoughts.

“John, you’ve been here five minutes and you’re already thinking about redecorating?” Bruce teased, “I feel like that’s only something you can do if you live here,” he said.

“Just giving suggestions, Bruce,” he said. John looked around the room, as if he was looking for something of interest. “We should do something fun. I mean, we’re supposed to be on our honeymoon after all!” John cackled.

Bruce shook his head with an amused smile as he walked over to a coffee table that sat in the corner of the room and placed the champagne bottle on the table top. He turned around to respond with some kind of teasing quip, but when something on the wall caught John’s attention, they both fell silent.

High on the wall, nearly hidden by the dimly lit fixtures of the room, hung a painting of two cursed figures. The late and previous Waynes: Martha and Thomas. His parents.

Bruce could barely remember that specific painting. There once were many paintings and photos of the pair, some with a young Bruce and others without. They had adorned the walls and rooms of the mansion, a symbol to all of something lost but never forgotten. But after Bruce had learned the truth, after he learned all the lies and secrets, he began to notice that many of the portraits had slowly gone missing and reappeared tucked away in any of the estate’s uninhabited rooms. Alfred’s doing, clearly. Not that Bruce ever felt it important to resist this change. If he was being completely honest, he welcomed it.

The faces that in his youth had become an emblem for his grief and then his pride, now all he could feel was their toxic influence, a smog that enveloped him and choked the air from his lungs like tight fingers at his neck.

He could feel it every time he looked into the empty eyes of his long dead parents.

He could remember the warm hugs of his father, the pride-filled smiles of his mother. Moments that once gave him hope, the comfort in the darkness, now were just as tainted as the rest of his childhood memories. It hadn’t been a meaningless act of violence that killed his parents. It wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t a mistake. It had been a decision, and one he could never have controlled.

John stepped closer and saluted the figures in the painting with a smile, “Always nice to meet the folks,” he said, “Wow. I can see where you got your handsomeness, Bruce, your parents were lookers!”

Bruce didn’t bother to conceal his cringe at another one of John’s jokes that only _he_ seemed to think was funny.

“I… suppose.” Bruce crossed his arms. “When I was younger, people used to say I looked a lot like my mother.”

“Not your dad?” John asked, and Bruce shrugged, “You’re not very much like them, are ya’, Bruce?” John’s voice had lowered, he had practically growled his words.

John climbed over the back of the lounge chair next to Bruce. He crouched down and stared at his companion, neither scowling nor flashing his disturbing full-teeth grin. He simply smiled.

“I don’t think you’re really interested in following gangster footsteps. Your kingpin schtick, is that really what you’re after?” John stared intensely at Bruce, who felt cornered under his gaze. All Bruce could think of was the way that John had looked at him back at Arkham. That inquisitive, calculating stare that tried to dissect him, that tried to see through his many layers, that wanted to see Bruce for who he truly was.

Why did John have to ask so many questions? It would have been so much easier if John would just keep to himself. If, from the beginning, John had kept his mouth shut, and hadn’t tried to become his best friend, things could have been easier.

But Bruce wasn’t lying when he told Alfred there was more to John. Bruce meant every word of it. He didn’t regret John. He only regretted the circumstances.

“You’re right, John. The things I’ve said before, they’re not completely true.” Bruce circled around the couch and sat on the opposite side, away from John.

John clasped his hands together loudly. “I knew it!” He exclaimed, he sounded back to his usual ecstatic self. “Come on, what’s the real reason? You can tell your pal John. You can tell your-,” he cleared his throat theatrically, “ _Significant other._ ” He muttered quietly.

Bruce scoffed at his last words, not out of irritation, but of confusion. ‘Significant other’ made them sound so professional, so serious. Bruce hadn’t given much thought to his and John’s relationship, but even he knew that the two were very casual.

“What drives a person to do what you do? I mean, I know why _I_ do it. But you could have any life you want, and you chose this one.” John gave Bruce a look that he couldn’t quite understand, at least, not yet.

“You want to know why I’m with the Pact?”

John rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh, “Sure, we’ll go with that. Why are you with the Pact?”

Too much was at stake. He couldn’t risk his cover being blown. So, no matter how much Bruce wished he could be honest, he didn’t know if he was there yet with John. But he couldn’t remain silent, that wasn’t a valid option right now. He needed to tell John something. And he wanted it to be the truth.

“I do what I do because it’s what I want. It’s exhilarating and gratifying. Pushing your body to its breaking point, feeling your lungs burn as you run through the streets.” Bruce clenched his fists. “Just letting yourself be unrestrained, making change your own way, changes you can see, changes that you know matter. You feel like you don’t have to hide, which is funny because you’re literally hiding behind a mask.”

Bruce continued, he barely paused to breath. “There’s so much in my life that I can’t control, but when I’m in a place that I created for myself, that I chose for myself, it’s freedom.” Bruce hadn’t meant to confess anything. He hadn’t expected to reveal these truths to anyone, but strangely, he was okay with it.

Bruce figured that John would have no idea what he had actually been referring to, but it was closest he could get to the truth with John.

After everything was said and done, all John did was giggle. “Brucie, you’re such an adrenaline junkie.” That was one, less delicate, way of putting it. Bruce shrugged and remained silent.

He sighed and stretched out his legs in his seat. He hadn’t paid much attention to the coffee table in front of the couch, so his foot collided with the leg of the table, which caused the champagne bottle to topple over. Bruce’s hands rushed to it and he managed to catch it right before it hit the ground.

Somehow, he had completely forgotten about the bottle, despite it being the one thing he made sure to bring for John.

Bruce met eyes with John, and they chuckled at each other. John bolted up from the couch.

“Let’s go somewhere else, do something better!” John rushed to the open doorway. He clasped his hands behind his back and waited patiently for Bruce.

Bruce stood up and raised his hands that still firmly held the bottle. “Should I take this with us?”

John scoffed, “Who needs it,” he said, then turned on his feet and exited the room.

Bruce now alone, stared at the drink in his hands.

He gave one last glance at his parents in the portrait. Bruce looked away then slammed the bottle back down on the table. He walked onward after John, and he gave no further thoughts to the figures from the past.

 

* * *

 

 

“You don’t have much of a view, do ya’ Bruce?” John had meant it when he told Bruce he wanted a tour of the mansion. And he wanted the _whole_ mansion. Five stories, one basement. And that wasn’t even counting the caves. Another day, maybe.

Nearing the end of the tour, they had ended up in Bruce’s personal master bedroom. As John had expected, it was just as gloriously massive as the rest of the house.

John stood by the window, peaking through the curtains out into the woods surrounding the estate. “It’s basically the view from Arkham.” John paused right after that comment, almost like he regretted what he had just said. He turned to look behind him at Bruce, who leaned against a dresser. “Remember Arkham, Brucie!?” John heaved a heavy breath, “Good times, right!?”

Though John had the same air around him as his usually did, there was something in his voice that was different. It was obvious to Bruce: John was lying. John had spoken so affectionately of that asylum before, but why was now different?

John would never go back there. And Bruce was alright with that.

John turned away from the windows and walked to the center of the room. His shoes loudly tapped on the wood floors. “Geez, it’s like a dance floor in here,” he said. John looked around the room, “You got a radio?” He asked, and his shoulders slumped when he saw Bruce shake his head, “Yeah, you don’t look like someone who listens to much music.”

As Bruce tried to figure out what John meant by that, an idea came to him. “John, wait here. I’ll be right back,” he said.

John raised an eyebrow at Bruce, “Why?”

Bruce rushed out of the room, “It’ll only take a second, just wait here!”

“What am I supposed to do in the mean time!?” John called out to him.

“You’ll figure it out! Redecorate or something!” Bruce said, and was gone.

Bruce raced down the stairs, a bit faster than he really should have with his bandages. But that was a problem he’d deal with later. Eventually, he made it to what he was looking for.

It took quite a long time before John could hear Bruce’s footsteps coming up the stairs and into the hall. Bruce excitedly entered the room before he stopped in his tracks. John was sitting in the middle of the floor with his back against an overturned sofa chair.

John’s eyes landed on what Bruce had brought with him: a stack of vinyl records and a rather large antique record player. “Welcome back, Bruce! Do you like it?” John asked rhetorically as he gestured to his ‘redecorating’.

Bruce stared at John unmoving. Eventually, he shrugged his shoulders with a smile, “I’ve seen worse.”

He continued as he ignored John’s antics, “It’s not a radio, but it’s something.” He placed the record player on a dresser. “Do you have something in mind?” Bruce asked as he looked through the stack he had brought up with him. He had more, but the player was heavy as is. A knife wound was enough, he didn’t need a sore back as well.

John lifted himself off the floor and came up from behind him with a curious look. He shook his head, “Not like I’d know any of them,” he said.

John looked through the records and picked one seemingly at random. He handed it to Bruce, who didn’t even look at it before he set it up and placed the needle on the record.

Eventually, it began to play. It started with soft piano music, before a blues singer cut in. Bruce certainly liked his jazz.

Bruce looked behind him at John, who had taken a few steps away from him. John had started to sway to the music. Apparently, it was a good pick.

Bruce smiled and leaned against the dresser. He watched John as he crossed his arms casually. “Guess we’re lucky you chose a romantic song.”

John slowly waved his arms around him, he moved to the music. Bruce wouldn’t consider John’s awkward swaying anything close to dancing, but it seemed like John was enjoying himself. John looked at Bruce and held his hands out.

Bruce stared for a moment. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to dance with John, but too much physical contact made him a little nervous. They had held hands a few times over the past week, but only for a few seconds at most. That was about the extent of their affection.

John never seemed to mind, and Bruce was thankful for that. But now, with John’s hands out to him, the soft and warm music that filled the large room, and the two alone to enjoy each other’s company, nothing seemed like a better idea.

He accepted both of John’s hands, and John immediately pulled him closer. To Bruce’s surprise, he let one of his hands go, and forcefully spun Bruce under his arm. Before Bruce had time to correct himself, John spun him back around. The two nearly clashed into each other.

“Come on, Bruce! You got to keep up!” Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle at John’s scold. “I thought a guy like you should at least know how to dance.”

“What do you think I do? I don’t throw dance parties. It’s all for work.” Bruce tried to fix their positions. He smirked, “I can make great small talk, though.” John placed a hand at Bruce’s side, right on his bandages. Bruce instantly yanked John’s hand away and placed it at his hip instead.

John, who realized his mistake, mouthed a short apology. Bruce rolled his eyes as he placed a hand on John’s shoulder, and the two began to sway together.

“Woo me with your killer small talk then, rich boy,” John grinned.

Bruce didn’t even wait a second before he jumped into action with a quiet and sultry voice, “Come to these parties often?” John immediately bit his lip and tried to hold back his laughter. “I’m glad you could make it. Not every day I get to dance with someone who’s not only smart but also _incredibly_ charming. I didn’t think a charity auction could get any better.”

“That’s _so_ bad, Bruce! Why did I think it was a good idea to go to _you_ for dating advice?” John giggled. Bruce couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, looks like it worked on you,” Bruce teased.

“Nah, try a little harder next time. I don’t think I’m seduced enough.” John ended his sentence with a playful wink.

“Okay Jay, I’ll work on it.” It was hard for the two not to keep their eyes locked. Only rarely did they ever glance away. “You know what. I did learn to waltz for my cousin’s quinceañera.”

“See, that counts! You should know how to dance!” John yelled excitedly, a touch too loud for how close they were.

“I was a kid! Do you know how old I am now, John!?”

“And do you know how old _I_ am?” John asked. This question actually did puzzle Bruce.

He furrowed his brow. “No, how old _are_ you?”

John shrugged, “I don’t know, why are you asking me.” He grinned. Bruce couldn’t help but scoff.

Bruce, this time, much more slowly spun John under his arm. Now more prepared for this, John spun back around. This ended with John’s back to Bruce, and Bruce’s own arms wrapped around him.

This closeness felt nice for the both of them. Bruce couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever allowed himself to be with a person like this, if ever. With his head tucked into John’s shoulder, John’s rough hair against Bruce’s neck, everything felt—not perfect, but close enough.

They stayed like that until the song faded out.

With the moment gone, Bruce only then realized how desperately he needed to sit down. He’d been running up and down a five-story mansion for hours now. Alfred had warned him to rest for a good reason. And of course, Bruce had ignored him.

Bruce backed away from a confused John and as he clenched his side. He must have pulled something the wrong way, he realized as his side began to pulse in pain. He made his way to sit on the foot of his bed.

“Sorry, I just need to-” Bruce let out a hiss of pain. John watched him, he didn’t know what else to do. “Can you…?” Bruce gestured to the record player, which was emitting nothing but static.

John rushed over to it and removed the needle. He looked over at the pained expression Bruce held and fidgeted with his hands.

Bruce let his eyes close as he tried to even out his breaths. When he finally opened his eyes to John staring at him, he saw that John hadn’t moved from the spot he’d been standing in, nor did he open his mouth. He only watched while he rubbed his hands together. Just by the worried expression on John’s face, Bruce could tell what he was thinking.

“It’s not your fault, Jay,” Bruce said softly, a reminder. “You didn’t do anything, so you don’t have to look like that.”

John’s eyes glanced around the room, his face didn’t change.

A few seconds of silence went by before Bruce broke it.

“Well, that killed the mood, didn’t it?” Bruce exclaimed in an attempt to reclaim the room’s lost air.

John only scoffed.

Bruce gestured with his hand next to him, “You can sit down, you don’t have to stand there.”

John pouted, “But… It’s your _bed_.” He practically whined. “That’s weird!” Bruce gave him an unamused look. A face that not so subtly asked him if he was joking. John, apparently to compromise, walked in front of Bruce and sat down.

On the floor.

Bruce rubbed at his temple as he stared down at John, who sat crossed legged and looked excitedly up at him.

“I’m fine right here. I’ve always looked up to you, buddy-boy. Now I’m doing it literally!” For a guy who loved to laugh, John rarely ever told good jokes.

Bruce sighed. He knew what he had to do.

Bruce pushed himself off the bed and slid down to the floor. The hardwood certainly wasn’t as nice to him as the bed sheets were. But given how large the room was, the two had plenty of space to sit.

“Happy?” Bruce rather irritably asked him.

“Very,” John hummed.

Bruce rubbed at his injured side. “I don’t think Alfred will be happy with me.” He tried to laugh but all that came out were pained breaths.

John chuckled for him. “Good old Alf, I don’t think he’s warmed up to me,” he said.

Bruce unfortunately couldn’t disagree. “Al’s always been a little nervous over the people I hang out with. He always thinks I’ll end up in the wrong crowd.”

“Wow, good thing I got to you first. Who knows where you would’ve ended up?” John didn’t look at Bruce when he spoke, only toyed with the ends of his sleeves.

Bruce smiled. “He’ll come around. He just has to get to know you, John. Then he’ll realize how special you are.”

John ran his hands through his faded green hair then slid further down until he was lying completely on the floor, “You’re such a smooth talker, Wayne.”

Bruce pushed himself away from the bed, and laid down on his back, side by side with John. John rolled over on his side and propped his head up with his hand.

“Hard to resist that charm of yours.” John smiled with a tone that teased.

“So _now_ I’m charming? I thought I was terrible at it?” Bruce faked like he was offended.

“It’s comes and goes,” John said with a grin.

Bruce met eyes with John, but he didn’t smile back. “I’m sorry I haven’t told Alfred about _us_ ,” he paused, “It’s not like I’m trying to hide it from him. I just- I haven’t found a good time to tell him.”

John waved his hand, “I get it! A loner like you—” he scoffed, “—I’m sure you keep your personal life locked tight. You don’t let anybody in,” he said. Bruce watched as John’s smile fell from his face and was replaced with a look of frustration.

Bruce knew that John was right. It had been a long time since he’d ever let someone in, and even longer since he had a reason to. Bruce was the last person to trust others. He doubted them, he lied, he used, he kept his distance, he had learned from experience that people only wanted him when they needed something.

Bruce had been so tempted to put a tracker on John when they had reunited after that long year. Though, when they met up at the Stacked Deck not long after, he couldn’t help the guilt he felt for the temptation. He wasn’t above admitting that it was a low for him.

And that confession was the first step on his road to recovery. His road to letting himself have a family again. Of letting people in again.

Bruce had so many problems he’d lost count. John had been completely right in his observation. Bruce was a thrill-seeker, a risk taker, an “ _adrenaline junkie_.” He was one of the last people to recommend going back to Arkham, but, as John probably would have put it, it might be nice to figure out what’s squirming around in that big head of his. Bruce knew first-hand how validating a name could be, how a label could be liberating.

John rolled over onto his back and looked out the window on the other side of the room. From their view from the floor, they couldn’t see any of the trees that surrounded the estate. Out the window, all John could see was the iconic Gotham clouds that covered the skies day and night.

“You think it’ll snow soon?” John asked.

There seemed to be a pattern going for the two. Every time Bruce found himself lost in his introspection, John would be there to say something random and pull him out.

John _did_ love his non-sequiturs.

“It’s too early, you’ll probably have wait a couple months,” Bruce answered as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Not a fan of winter. It always gets too cold for me! People do love the holidays, though.” John grinned. He rolled back over to face Bruce. “What do you do?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Like, what do I celebrate?” He asked, and John nodded, “Nothing really, Al and I don’t really do much. When I was younger I used to go to my mother’s family for Hanukkah, but when my mom disconnected from them, it just stopped being a big thing. I didn’t really think much of it then, but I guess now I know why she was distancing herself.”

John nodded his head, “At Arkham, if we didn’t pick any fights for the whole month, we got to give out x-mas gifts to whoever we wanted!”

Bruce smiled, “Who did you choose?”

“Always Dr. Leland! One year, I gave her a handmade picture frame with a photo of the two of us!” He exclaimed, but then lowered his voice to a mutter, “I wonder if she still has it?”

That gave Bruce an idea. He pulled his phone out from his pocket and reached his arm around John. John was mildly confused before Bruce held out his phone above them. “Smile,” he said.

John leaned in closer and rested his head against Bruce’s shoulder. He gave his biggest, fullest, toothiest grin.

The phone’s camera clicked, and they huddled even closer to get a better look at it.

Bruce groaned at the image. “My hair’s a mess,” he said. Bruce reached his hand up and tried to smooth over his heavy locks.

John took the phone out from Bruce’s hand and continued to admire it. “You’re too judge-y, you look _great_ , Bruce!” Bruce scoffed. “I think I like your hair better this way.”

John set the phone down as he reached a hand up and ran it through Bruce’s hair. Bruce instantly stilled. John let his fingers slowly weave their way through Bruce’s curls. Without any hair gel, it was left in its natural state.

John twirled a thick curl around his finger and pulled on it ever so slightly. “I think you should leave your hair alone, nothing wrong with it,” he said.

Bruce felt his face grow warm. “John, you know, sometimes,” Bruce paused as he pulled himself out from John’s grasp. John made a questioning noise in response. “Sometimes you are _so_ embarrassing.”

John could have sworn he heard Bruce purr in his last words. John chuckled, and Bruce couldn’t help but laugh with him.

As their laughter faded out, the room was replaced with a comfortable silence that neither tried to interrupt. Bruce let out a deep and long pent up breath. He let his eyes shut as he curled up closer to John.

Bruce was so tired. After all the stress, after all the pain, he could finally let himself rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bruce, doesn't realize his boyfriend knows he's bman. Too tired.
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> These fics take a long time to create, and it takes even longer when I have to completely devote myself to my job, so if you want to help support me, I can guarantee you they will come out faster! ^ ^  
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> Me too John, I also hate rich people.


	3. A Family Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another unexpected visitor arrives at Wayne Manor, namely Tiffany Fox. And now, John is more determined than ever to make a good impression.

Bruce was alone when his eyes slowly opened and the world around him came into focus. He had expected to wake up to John curled at his side, like he had been before he’d fallen asleep. But he was gone.

There was a pillow under Bruce’s head and a blanket on top of him. Bruce assumed this was Alfred’s doing, he imagined that John wouldn’t have left the bed covers in any kind of tidy condition. Even John’s overturned sofa chair was now upright, though it’s location in the room hadn’t changed.

The room was dark, the skies had turned a greyish blue, and it even looked like it was going to rain soon. Rain in Gotham city? How unexpected.

This was barely a thought in Bruce’s mind however. He needed to know where John was. He had hoped that John wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. But if he was still in the mansion, who knows what he might accidently find.

Bruce exited his room and rushed down the stairs. He hoped to hear at least someone else in the mansion. And his wish was granted. As Bruce entered the foyer, he could hear talking coming from the kitchen.

Bruce was immediately relieved to know that John hadn’t left already, but panic filled his mind. If John was talking, then that meant that John would be talking to someone. And that someone would be Alfred.

That could only mean bad things, Bruce concluded.

Bruce nearly sprinted over to the kitchen to stop whatever terrible thing John would surely be saying to Alfred. He slowed his speed when he reached the door way as to not look conspicuous.

He walked through the open doorway and as he opened his mouth to say something to interrupt the two, he was met with visual of John, grinning and leaning over the kitchen island, and Alfred, cooking at the stove and laughing along with whatever John had been saying.

Bruce was astounded.

“That’s what I keep telling him!” John explained excitedly to Alfred, “You should have seen the look on his-“

Both John and Alfred turned to look at Bruce, who was too startled to say a thing.

Alfred smiled at Bruce, “Good morning, Bruce, or should I say, good evening,” he teased. “You’ve very well slept through half the day.”

John turned around to face him, he leaned against the counter casually, “Alfred and I had to find our own ways to have fun.”

Bruce cracked an awkward smile. He approached the two and looked between them. “Sorry about that,” he said quickly and moved onto his real point of interest, “So, what were you two talking about?”

John raised a hand to his mouth and started to snicker.

Alfred spoke first, “Oh, nothing in particular. We were simply sharing stories.”

Based on John’s reaction alone, Bruce could very easily guess what the topic of their stories were, but that wasn’t what was on Bruce’s mind. There was something else that Bruce found far more shocking and noteworthy.

Bruce nodded and continued to watch them inquisitively.

Alfred resumed his cooking and regularly stirred his pot of vegetable soup, “Our dinner is almost ready. I had planned on making something else, but John figured some healthy soup was better for someone under the weather. Give you the energy to recover from your _wounds_ ,” Alfred emphasized. He turned to glance at Bruce with a knowing look.

Bruce rolled his eyes, he was very much aware of his injuries. The pain wasn’t exactly easy to forget about, after all. Alfred just always liked to give Bruce a hard time.

John smacked his hand over Bruce’s shoulder. “Nah, I’m sure this guy is fine. Buddy boy’s used to getting a beat down every night.”

Bruce would have liked to think he was good enough not to take a beating _every_ night.

Alfred turned to him, “Bruce, the table?” He instructed.

“Sure thing, Al.” Bruce turned to exit the room but before he did, he gestured for John to come with. John gave Bruce a confused look. He glanced back to Alfred, but eventually, he gave up and followed Bruce out.

The two were setting up inside one of the mansion’s many dining halls. It was certainly a smaller room, only meant to serve five or six people at once. Bruce and John had pulled three chairs from a stack in a corner and situated them on the long table. It wasn’t hard to notice that John had placed his chair extremely close to Bruce’s.

Bruce had tried to make himself look distracted by reorganizing the already set out plates when he spoke up, “So, you and Alfred seem to be getting along. That’s great.”

John grinned and leaned over the table, “I knew I messed it up before, so I thought I’d try something else! Do what _you_ do when you meet someone! Be boring, talk about the weather, figure out the stuff we have in common.”

“And what do you and Alfred have in common?”

“You,” John said light heartedly. “I guess you freaked out when you got up. You probably thought I was harassing ol’ Al or something and ran down here to stop me before I really screwed things up.”

It was unnerving just how perceptive John could be at times. And what was worst was John’s tone. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t accusing him, he wasn’t even hurt that Bruce had assumed the worst of him. He simply stated it as a fact.

John was right to think of him like that. Bruce spent more time warning others about John and covering for him, than he did giving John a chance. Yes, it was true that John often said the wrong things at the wrong time, and he had a million and one problems to work through, but he was also charming, funny, and incredibly determined.

Bruce had defended John to Alfred by saying that there was more in him. But it seemed that Bruce needed to fully realize this as well.

He opened his mouth to speak but unsure of what to say, time decided for him. A doorbell rang through the house and immediately brought their discussion to an end.

Bruce hadn’t expected anymore visitors. He hadn’t even expected the visitor he already had.

Bruce left John in the dining room as he chased after Alfred who was already on his way to open the door.

“I didn’t invite anyone else, if you’re wondering,” Bruce defended himself.

Alfred smiled, “I know you didn’t. I did.” Bruce stopped as they entered the foyer and Alfred opened the front door for his guest.

To Bruce’s surprise, he was met with the sweet and smiling face of Tiffany Fox.

She greeted both Alfred and Bruce with a wave, “Hey guys!” She said as she shook the rain drops off her umbrella.

“Tiffany!” Bruce exclaimed as she walked inside and handed her coat to Alfred with a quick thank you.

“Hey Bruce, what’s up?” Bruce approached her, and Tiffany gave him a playful punch to the arm.

Bruce hesitated and looked between her and Alfred, “I’m not sure actually,” he said. As Alfred walked over to place her purple pea coat in the closet, Bruce not-so-subtly rushed over to him. “You invited Tiffany?” Bruce whispered to Alfred. “When John’s here?”

Alfred turned to face Bruce. His expression was that of pure irritation. “Tiffany and I had actually been planning this dinner for a few days now. You were the one who decided to invite Mr. Doe. And I hadn’t expected him to stay this long.”

Bruce let out a sigh as he glanced at Tiffany, who was giving the two of them an odd look. “What do you think we should do?” Bruce asked.

“I can’t imagine seeing John will be very pleasant for poor Tiffany,” Alfred said, and Bruce had to agree.

Even though Bruce had been able to pull John away from her before he said anything truly terrible, his appearance at the funeral was certainly something that was deeply upsetting for her. She couldn’t have been happy with John being the reason Bruce had to leave the church and miss the entire ceremony.

And that’s not even considering their run in at Wayne Tower.

Bruce’s first thoughts were to get John out, he could make up an excuse, convince John to leave early. He’d understand, right?

But he’d be doing the same thing over and over again. Instead of supporting John and allowing him to actually make things right with Tiffany, he’d be covering for John and assuming the worst of him.

“Al, can you talk to her? Explain the situation, and maybe keep her from freaking out. I’m going to talk to John,” he said.

“Hey! You know I don’t like gossip!” Tiffany said as she walked up to the two. “What are we talking about?”

Bruce and Alfred shared a look.

Alfred pulled Tiffany aside as Bruce wordlessly walked back to the dining room, only to find John in the kitchen checking on the food.

“Hey, what took you so long?” John asked with a smile as he placed the lid of the pot back down. “Was it some weirdo trying to sell something?” He joked.

Bruce stepped closer to John, “No, it’s uhm- Do you remember Tiffany, the girl from the vault—”

John clapped his hands together, “Oh, Tiffany! She’s here!? I _have_ to say hi!” John’s eyes moved over to the doorway but then his smile faltered, though it didn’t fully drop. He looked back to Bruce’s uncomfortable expression. “Unless you don’t want me to.” John’s grin finally fell, and it was replaced with a look of disappointment, “You probably told me so you could sneak me out, right? Out the window like a boy in the bedroom?”

Bruce hated this.

He reached out to hold both of John’s hands. “No, I don’t want you to leave. I want you to talk to her and I want you to stay for dinner. I want you _here_.” Bruce squeezed John’s fingers.

John was momentarily surprised, but he quickly regained his composure and smiled. He let out a small nervous chuckle, “I’m- I’m glad, Bruce.”

“But I need to tell you something,” Bruce cut in, “I want you to be careful what you say to Tiffany. You don’t have to try too hard to make her laugh, please don’t mention the Pact, and _please_ , don’t talk about the funeral. She’s still hurting, John. We both are,” he said.

That surprised John. “Oh! Oh, yeah, of course. Got it. You can count on me, Bruce!” John pulled one of his hands out from Bruce’s and gave him a playful salute.

Bruce smiled, “I know I can, Jay.”

When John and Bruce, side by side, rejoined the other two in the dining room, it was obvious how uncomfortable the four of them were.

“Miss Fox!” John burst out when he and Tiffany made eye contact. He extended his hand to her. “I want to properly introduce myself. I’m John, John Doe.”

She stared back, not moving her arms out of their crossed stance. “Yeah, I remember.”

John tried to keep a smile on his face, but when it became clear that she wasn’t going to accept his hand shake, he slowly moved his hand away and put it in his pants pocket, “Not into shaking hands, I get it.”

Between John’s awkward smile, Alfred’s discomfort, and Tiffany’s glare, someone needed to interrupt this scene. “Why don’t we sit down,” Bruce suggested.

Bruce pulled Alfred aside, away from the other two, “You’re amazing, Alfred. What did you say to her to get her to stay?”

“Well, first, when she realized it was John Doe that was here, she called him, and I quote, ‘that green haired freak’ and she tried to leave. However, I told her that you two were working together. That he was an ally. An… eccentric ally.”

Bruce shrugged, “Well, she’s still here.” Bruce gave an awkward smile.

A chair had been pulled up for Tiffany, and just as John sat closer to Bruce, she sat closer to Alfred.

Alfred went into the kitchen and came out with a large decorate bowl of the soup on a serving cart. Bruce rose from his seat and politely offered to serve his guests, which Alfred gratefully accepted.

Once everyone was properly equipped with a full meal of soup, salad, crisp bruschetta, and a glass of water, Bruce sat down at his seat. The four of them quietly began to eat. Emphasis on the word: quietly. The only sounds in the room were the clinks and scraps of silver ware on porcelain.

It was John that broke the silence, “Great food, Alfred. Never had anything this fancy before, rich people, right?”

Alfred offered him a polite smile, but he quickly returned his gaze back to his plate.

Periodically, Tiffany would lift her stare and watch John, but as soon as he raised his head and looked back at her, she turned away to focus on something else.

“So, Al,” Bruce spoke hesitantly, “The moles in the gardens still giving the gardeners trouble?”

“No more than usual,” Alfred answered simply.

Thanks, Al.

Bruce nodded his head, but he wasn’t about to give up. He tried again at a conversation. “Tiffany,” he said, and she turned to look at him, “How’s adjusting to Wayne Enterprises been? Everything okay so far?”

Tiffany nodded casually, “I think so. Your lab is amazing, GCU’s got nothing on you guys,” she said, “It’s a lot of work, but you own the place, so I guess you would know. Not like you have some other night job or something.”

John took a sip from his glass to hide his smile and his very obvious amusement.

Bruce gave Tiffany a look that very clearly told her that he didn’t find that comment very funny.

“You know,” John’s words caused all the eyes of his dinner companions to fall onto him. “I think I’d hate to work at Wayne tower. Been in there before, and _phew_ , pretty boring.”

“Not how I remember it,” Bruce muttered under his breath.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Tiffany whispered back.

John focused on Tiffany, “It was just a lot of rock and wood, like this old place.”

“You know, I actually agree with you on that, the place could seriously use a makeover,” she said.

John leaned forward in his seat, “It could use some colors, you know what would look nice, Bruce?”

And at the exact same time, John and Tiffany said, “Purple!”

Bruce couldn’t help but smile, John did want to find what they had in common. “Alright, if I’m ever doing renovations, I’ll make sure to get the both of you.”

Tiffany scoffed, “But actually, I’m a designer. It’s my job to make sure things work _and_ look nice.”

“But you know me, Bruce,” John cut in. “I know how to look good, how to look _snazzy_.” John gestured wildly over himself with his hands.

Tiffany made a mocking laugh, “Oh really? Who’s your fashion icon, a dumpster clown?”

John’s head snapped over to face Tiffany, and suddenly, Bruce realized things might be going a little too far. John opened his mouth to say something but just before he could, Bruce jumped in.

“Since neither of you can decide, I’m getting Alfred as my designer.”

Alfred smiled, “I quite like the place as it is actually.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. She crossed her arms and looked at Alfred, “Of course you would, you’re old. You like things that look like you,” she said. Both Alfred and Bruce gave her a reprimanding look.

John however couldn’t keep in his laughter. “These oldies, they don’t know a thing about style.” John’s comment caused Alfred and Bruce’s matching stare to fall onto John. But Bruce couldn’t hide his smile.

Everyone at the table began to laugh. Bruce and Alfred met eyes and they shared a look. Things were surprisingly going well.

“Anyway, I’ll have you know that my fashion icon is _Batman_!”

Until they weren’t.

John continued, “I like his accessories, thinking about styling my hair like his, what do you think?” He raised his hands to his head and pointed up in a gesture. “Like those cute little bat ears.”

“The ears aren’t cute!” Bruce interjected. “I mean, you’ve seen him in the newspapers. It’s pretty intimidating.”

John smirked at him, “He may be cool, but,” he hummed, “No.”

Tiffany nodded, “He’s got a point, Bruce. Batman’s just some… Bat… Dude. It’s pretty silly.” She smiled at Bruce.

As Bruce tried to hide how offended he was at this betrayal, Alfred was smiling and enjoying himself.

“I mean, have you ever seen Batman?” Tiffany asked as she leaned forward. “Like in real life.”

John’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah! One time, in Arkham Asylum!” He said, but the second the words left his mouth he froze.

John wanted to tell her all about his various Batman sighting, but he’d been doing so well to win her over. He made her laugh and smile, not like how he failed before at her father’s funeral. Tiffany and Alfred were _enjoying_ being around him. John didn’t want to know how they’d react if he brought up the riot in Arkham Asylum last year. Or his and Batman’s recent teamwork with the Pact. One story of which Bruce trusted John not to talk about.

But it was too late. He already named dropped that asylum, that hostile, vile, horrible place. He could see the surprise in her eyes, the confusion.

So, John took a lesson from Bruce. He lied. And just like Bruce, he lied poorly.

“I mean, nope! Can’t say I have,” he said with a shrug.

The three of them all snapped to look at him, various levels of confusion written clearly on their faces. Despite John’s attempts to look distracted at something else, they could all see how he tensed. Tiffany watched him carefully, and Bruce found he couldn’t think of anything to say to change the subject.

“Oh,” Tiffany said in response, “Makes sense I guess, some vigilante, hiding in the shadows. Probably doesn’t talk to people a lot.” She tried to lessen how awkward the conversation had suddenly become, and maybe even cover for John, but it was too late.

Everyone knew that John had lied, and no one could tell why. This only worsened John’s nerves. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him.

It was different to having an audience when you were telling a joke. No one deserves to have all these eyes on them, not when they felt like the punchline.

“Yeah,” John quickly said in a low voice.

A few seconds went by in uncomfortable silence before Tiffany politely left for the bathroom. John couldn’t help but assume she had fled because of him. He could only imagine what she was thinking of him, what Alfred and Bruce were thinking.

This was John’s last chance to win her over, and he blew it.

“I gotta’ go to the bathroom too,” John said quickly before he stood up in his chair and made to leave the room.

Bruce’s gaze followed John, “You alright, John?”

“Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine,” John said quickly before he left the room. Bruce looked to Alfred for answers on what to do, but all Alfred could do was shrug.

 

* * *

 

 

After Tiffany had left the bathroom, she was already halfway through the hallway and back to the dining room when she heard various yells coming from a closet. Was that... John?

“God _dammit_!” John exclaimed as he slammed his foot into a box of cleaning supplies that laid on the floor. “I just _had_ to screw it up, didn’t I? She must think I’m a complete _idiot_!” John had nearly screamed everything he just said. He grabbed ahold of the bars of the rack against the wall and violently shook it with every word.

Tiffany’s first instinct was to turn the other way and pretend she hadn’t heard anything, but what she heard next made her pause.

John’s voice was lower this time, less manic and more humiliated. “Bruce gives me one chance to impress everyone and I just… I just _had_ to bring up Batman. I just _had_ to bring up Arkham. Why would she want to hear about some wackos in the loony bin? Why would she even want to be _near_ me after that?” John's voice grew quiet. “Dammit, I hate it. Their eyes on me, them _judging_ me. Why do they have to be so judgmental!?” John let out a long and tired sigh as he ran a hand over his face. He lowered his head to rest against one of the shelves.

Tiffany approached the closed door and knocked barely loud enough to make a sound, though it still made John nearly jump out of his skin.

“You know,” she said through the door, “if you don’t want anyone to think you’re a _wacko_ , maybe you shouldn’t talk to yourself so much,” she said with a hesitant smile and a brief chuckle.

John clasped his hands together and fidgeted with his fingers, “Oh, hey… Tiffany,” he said as he looked to the closed door, “What- What’re you doing?”

“I mean, I was just on my way back to the table, so I could finish my food, because, you know, I’m starving. But I guess right now I’m talking to some guy in a closet,” she said.

He let out a nervous and breathy laugh, “Uh- yeah,” he said.

Tiffany could tell how uneasy John was just from the sound of his voice.

“You know, John,” Tiffany leaned against the wall next to the door, “Coming out of a mental hospital isn’t something you should be ashamed of. My mom,” she spoke slowly, “She doesn’t really talk to people anymore, and my little brother, he has these huge panic attacks. We get so angry at each other, I can’t stand coming home."

“So, knowing that you were getting help, therapy, medication, whatever, and that you came out of it and put it in the past, that’s a good thing, right?”

John let out another long sigh as he slid down against the door. Tiffany soon followed. “I know,” he said sheepishly. “But it’s just so _damn_ hard. It just keeps creeping up whenever I talk, or whatever I do. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like a virus, or a worm.”

“Yeah, I get it. Intrusive thoughts,” Tiffany nodded, “You know, this was the first family dinner I’ve had in a long time.”

John grimaced, “That was the first one I had at all.”

“Not close to your family?” Tiffany asked.

John couldn’t help but scoff, “Bruce is basically the closest thing I’ve ever had to family. I mean, there’s another person, she and I are pretty close too, but Bruce is different.”

She smiled, “Bruce has always been family to me too. I know we have this huge age gap, but he was around a lot as a kid. I’ve known him since I was born. My family, we sort of took him in after—” she gestured with her hand, “ _—_ you know.” Tiffany’s expression softened, and she pulled her knees to her chest. “I guess it makes sense he’d take me in after my dad…”

John hesitantly glanced to the floor, he waited a moment before speaking. “Tiffany, I just feel so bad about what I said to you before, I just—” John gritted his teeth, “—I knew you were sad, I mean, who wouldn’t be after that. And I always cheer up when I hear jokes, so I thought that making you laugh would make you feel better,” he said, “But I always get the joke wrong. I never know what people want to hear. It’s so… hard.”

“You keep saying that. ‘It’s so hard, that’s so hard, everything’s too hard.’ You know what isn’t hard apparently? Getting Bruce to like you. And if he likes you, then hey! Maybe you’re not doing the absolute worst after all.”

“Bruce is so serious. I can never tell with him,” he said.

Tiffany leaned her head back against the wall, “You think he’s bad now, you should’ve seen him as a kid. He was this, edgy ball of rage. He never talked to anyone, got kicked out of three schools, picked a fight with everyone,” she said. “He’s different now, but I don’t think he’s better. Bruce likes to act like some tough lone wolf, but he’s just as fragile as the rest of us. If I’ve learned anything from my mom and my brother, it’s better not to deal with these things by yourself. Friends are there for you, they’re the family you didn’t even know you had. So, when your life turns to shit, they’re there for you."

“Bruce knows what you’re going through, John. He’s been through it too,” she finished.

Everything she said, John understood, but he couldn’t believe it completely. “But what if I’m not good enough for him? What if I’m not the best version of myself that I can be?”

“Listen, I don’t really know what you guys’ relationship is, but if you have a problem, you should bring it up to him, so you can work it out together,” she said, “I mean, you’re a step closer than people who won’t even admit they _have_ a problem. You think I make all my tech by ignoring the problems? You just have to be better. You have to try harder. If something’s not working, you have to try something else. Do something new, let go of the old stuff. You don’t think it hurts when I have to throw away my plans, scrap the whole project when it fails?”

With every word, Tiffany became more animated.

“It sucks, it really does! But I gotta’ make it work, and sometimes I have to start over. It’s exhausting, let me tell you, but that’s how you improve. You just have to put the extra effort in.”

John laughed, “Bruce would definitely be mad if you half-assed something.”

Tiffany laughed along with him. "We should probably head back," she suggested. 

John chuckled, "Yeah, I bet Bruce is losing his mind right now." Eventually, after making himself look presentable, John emerged from the closest and the two headed back to finish their dinners.

They were greeted with the relieved faces of Alfred and especially Bruce.

“That took a while,” Bruce started, “You two okay?”

John looked to Tiffany, she met his gaze with a smile. John looked back to Bruce, “We’re good.” With that, the two took their seats. Bruce couldn’t help but notice that somehow their spots were no longer clinging to the opposite sides but were close to everyone equally.

Bruce didn’t know what had happened between the two, but he could imagine it was something good.

“Bruce!” Tiffany shouted across the table, “Why are we only drinking water, where’s the wine?”

“Wine?! You’re not old enough to drink, Tiff,” Bruce responded in a scolding tone.

Tiffany crossed her arms, “Excuse you, I’ve been for a while now, Bruce.”

Bruce stared at her with a look of utter confusion, “Wait, I thought you were nineteen?”

“Wow.” Tiffany rolled her eyes and looked at Alfred. “Can you believe this?” She turned to John, who began to giggle.

“It’s okay, he doesn’t know my age either.”

Bruce looked pleadingly at Alfred, “Al, how old is she?”

Alfred took a sip from his soup and smiled, “If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.”

Both John and Tiffany burst out laughing. Bruce groaned in annoyance. “Come on, Tiff, give me a hint. Are you twenty-one?”

Alfred answered for her, “Close, but no cigar.” This would lead the conversation into fits of laughter and many annoyed pleads from Bruce.

As the sound of the room erupted into a warm hum for John’s distracted ears, he caught himself staring out the windows. John could see, floating in the wind, glistening against the dark grey skies, intermix with the light rain, the small first flakes of snow.

Bruce saw this as well, and as the two met eyes, they couldn’t help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!! I really appreciate it!!
> 
> I have another fic in the works, which would be a direct sequel to An Extra Effort, where Bruce finally tells John he's bman, as well as other stuff. It's still very concepty, so I'm not sure when that'll be, but keep a look out!!
> 
> Thanks so much! Mwah! ^ ^
> 
>  
> 
> I LOVE John and Tiffany. Their relationship was something I've always wanted to write for, and I haven't seen it done very much!

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to support what I do, you can maybe buy me a [coffee](https://ko-fi.com/ChoPyArt)!  
> Or become a [patron ](https://www.patreon.com/ChoPyArt)and get exclusive content! 
> 
> Check out my [Tumblr here!!](https://chocolatepyrusart.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> Been working on this even before episode 4 came out, guess I'm a little late but oh well. I really wanted to work on something cute, funny, and fluffy. And don't worry, the next chapters are coming out soon! ;)
> 
> John is Best Boi


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